Category: Game 1

As I mentioned in my last post, the music and sound design of Ocarina of Time has been an element of the game I have noticed and appreciated more and more the more I play through the game. One interesting phenomenon with the game that I have discovered, however, is that the current near-meme status… Continue reading External Context and Zelda’s Magic Circle

As I mentioned in my last post, the music and sound design of Ocarina of Time has been an element of the game I have noticed and appreciated more and more the more I play through the game. One interesting phenomenon with the game that I have discovered, however, is that the current near-meme status that some of the sound design elements have achieved in gamer and internet culture have altered the associations I make with the sound effects, which alters the feel of the gameplay itself. For instance, I have heard Link’s spin attack yell used as a sample in songs, and have done so myself when making music. The “secret discovery” sound effect is another that I have heard so often in other Zelda games and outside of the context of a video game that I am somewhat dissociated from the game world when I hear it. It makes me wonder if the magic circle created by the rules of the game can eventually be worn away as the game becomes more of a cultural artifact than an immersive gamic experience and the player becomes increasingly distracted from the gamic experience by the constant sonic reminder that they’re playing a Zelda game and not actually exploring the landscape of Hyrule and fighting monsters to rescue the kingdom. To extend this line of thought, I also wonder if this phenomenon may mean that it is impossible to create a convincing magic circle with the continuation of a successful series. As the series gains a following and its own place in gamer/internet/general culture, it becomes impossible to disassociate elements of the game from their appearance outside of the game. Nintendo, however, seems to have wholly embraced the relevance of their games outside the context of the digital video game world, with games like the Super Smash Bros. series creating a context-collapsing post-modern mashup of the most popular Nintendo characters.

The mechanic that I found the most interesting in Ocarina of Time while playing was the day/night cycle that triggers when the player enters certain non-narrative linked areas and the ways this was used to add and alter the content of the game in ways that add depth to the game in a remarkably impressive… Continue reading Messing With Time

The mechanic that I found the most interesting in Ocarina of Time while playing was the day/night cycle that triggers when the player enters certain non-narrative linked areas and the ways this was used to add and alter the content of the game in ways that add depth to the game in a remarkably impressive way for such an early implementation of the mechanic. Searching for some discussion on day/night mechanics in games I stumbled across this reddit thread in the large (700k+ subscriber) /r/gaming subreddit about day/night mechanics in games (https://www.reddit.com/r/Games/comments/24igkc/weekly_rgames_mechanic_discussion_daynight_cycle/). Nintendo games were some of the most frequently referenced in the thread, Zelda and Pokemon being the main two series. Because these were the earliest games referenced in the thread to my knowledge, I was interested in the history of day/night mechanics in games. This led me to this DigitalPress forum thread from 2006 on the subject (http://forum.digitpress.com/forum/showthread.php?89524-First-game-with-a-day-night-cycle). Despite some uncertainty, it seems that the game Red Alert from 1981 is the earliest game mentioned with a day/night mechanic and in-game clock that changes as the player progresses through the game (video of gameplay: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4iHMzi86KuE). Many games use the in-game clock or day/night mechanic to add difficulty during the night-time, with Minecraft being the most notable modern example of this that comes to my mind. In Minecraft the player must try to gather enough resources, weapons, and/or shelter in order to survive the flood of monsters that come when the sun sets. The nighttime and darkness in the game is something the player grows to fear almost as much as the sound of a Creeper about to explode. This seems to be a fairly common experience with day/night mechanics in video games as noted by many of the posters in both threads. Ocarina of Time eschews the notion that the night has to be a bad thing in the game, offering certain night-time-only opportunities to the player like the grave-digging minigame in Kakariko Village.

MAJOR BASTION SPOILERS BELOW. You’ve been warned. Bastion as a story is about a group of people trying to put their world back together after a terrible calamity destroys nearly everything they know. The plot gradually becomes more complicated, forcing the characters to confront the sinister underpinnings of the past world, causing many of them […]

MAJOR BASTION SPOILERS BELOW. You’ve been warned.

Bastion as a story is about a group of people trying to put their world back together after a terrible calamity destroys nearly everything they know. The plot gradually becomes more complicated, forcing the characters to confront the sinister underpinnings of the past world, causing many of them to question whether or not it’s worth saving. Ultimately, the game seems to ask whether it’s a better idea to try to restore a flawed but familiar past or abandon it and look forward towards an unfamiliar but possibly better future.

Bastion as a game is about killing monsters. A lot of monsters. Some people too, towards the end.

I mentioned back in my first Bastion log that the gameplay was extremely simplistic – basic action RPG stuff. While the story of the game gets deeper as you move through the levels, you learn everything you’re going to learn about the gameplay by the time you reach the Bastion (barring a few poorly-placed last-level gimmicks). Bastion’s moment-to-moment gameplay never adds anything to the story and in some cases even detracts from it (it’s hard to feel like you’re doing anything to fix the world when every level in the game is worse off after your visit than it was before).

Bastion is hardly the only game to exemplify this phenomenon, which developer Clint Hocking calls Ludonarrative Dissonance (Ludonarrative dissonance in Bioshock: The problem of what the game is about). It’s not even the most egregious – Hocking invented the term to describe Bioshock, and the Uncharted series is famous for portraying its protagonist Nathan Drake as a snarky, lovable rogue-type character in the cutscenes between the parts where he murders large numbers of enemy soldiers. But Bastion doesn’t get a pass simply because one of its major flaws is so widespread.

If the mechanical genre of the game was the only thing causing this dissonance in Bastion, I would probably have been fine with it. I’m okay with killing a lot of things in an action game or shooter even if that doesn’t necessarily gel with the game’s story, because that’s how action games and shooters work (not sure what thinking that says about me). But what really bothers me is that the game didn’t offer me many choices until it’s very last acts. I noted in my first post on Bastion that the game gives you reasons to be suspicious of Rucks early and often, but in-game you’re never able to challenge him or go against his wishes until the very end, when he recommends using the bastion’s power to restore Caelondia at the cost of erasing the survivors’ memories of the calamity.

Bastion does, however, offer you the choice, if only at the very end, and it’s one of the game’s most memorable moments. For all its faults in this regard, Bastion actually manages to leverage the pull of gameplay concerns versus story concerns once or twice in the game, and the results are incredibly compelling. For me, one of the most powerful moments in the game comes when you find Zulf bleeding out in the final level, betrayed by his countrymen for giving you cause to go to war. Here you are offered a choice – follow the ludic instincts the game has been drilling into you, abandon Zulf (who’s already betrayed you once) and try to fight your way out, or follow the ideals of the narrative and try to carry Zulf out at the cost of your ability to attack. Admittedly, I didn’t spend too long on the choice (I’ve saved Zulf every time) but it was an incredible moment, and it made me kind of disappointed that the developers hadn’t given me more chances to defy the mechanics.

But all things considered, I’m glad they threw a few in. The glimpses of what the game could have been with more gameplay and story integration were well worth it.

Part of what makes Dragon Age: Inquisition so enthralling is the sheer magnitude of storylines and interactivity. Within the game you can choose to accept or deny the allegiance of different factions or choose the fate of sworn enemies, with your choices not only affecting the storyline but also the gameplay itself. And after doing … Continue reading “My Choices, My Play: Living Vicariously Through the Inquisitor”

Part of what makes Dragon Age: Inquisition so enthralling is the sheer magnitude of storylines and interactivity. Within the game you can choose to accept or deny the allegiance of different factions or choose the fate of sworn enemies, with your choices not only affecting the storyline but also the gameplay itself. And after doing some research surrounding Dragon Age: Inquisition and its characteristics, I came across an interesting piece “Narrative Structure and Player Experience in Role-Playing Games”. In it, authors Christopher Moser and Xiaowen Fang explore how a branching narrative structure within a game has a positive impact on play, and doing so they analyze the impact salient decision points have on the player’s perception of the game’s play and narrative.

Throughout the article, they discuss how the number of key decision points impacts a game’s play and narrative. This relates to DA: I as at many points in the game, the inquisitor( the player’s character) is often presented with a choice: to recruit this agent, to enlist the help of this group or an opposing one: to accept the help a playable companion or not. And the more choices that come along, the more apparent the Inquisitors choices become. Certain choices affect other companion’s morale, and open or close new questlines. Through these choices, I have a chance to make my Inquisitor’s narrative unique from someone else’s, all the while impacting the potential branching narratives throughout the game.

As Moser and Fang write regarding this type of narrative: “Users can experience a dynamic story that unfolds in realistic, individualized directions, and users can experience narrative causal agency, which mediates the experience of the story” (146). I thoroughly enjoyed this part of DA: I. The ability to have place my stamp within on a game’s emergent narratives creates a strong sense of involvement and fosters an enjoyment of the game. As I played, I realized that the choices I was making where choices that I would actually make; it was less following a linear storyline throughout, and more about personal tastes, allowing a level of immersion that I did not expect when I started playing.

My Choice: Gone Home Videogames as Literature Videogames have the ability to create a setting, build up characters, and share deeply emotional stories. The only difference between a novel and a video game is that the video game is more interactive. Instead of envisioning a setting, the player can move around in it. The map in Gone … Continue reading “Videogames as Literature”

My Choice: Gone Home

Videogames as Literature

Videogames have the ability to create a setting, build up characters, and share deeply emotional stories. The only difference between a novel and a video game is that the video game is more interactive.

Instead of envisioning a setting, the player can move around in it. The map in Gone Home becomes more detailed the more you explore the house. The spatial element of this video game is impressive and it also syncs up with the storyline. How could the main character possibly know every detail of a house she’s never been in? Well, she doesn’t and it’s up to the player to fill in the gaps. The player literally builds the environment around her, which is something we’ve explored when talking about Portal. In Portal, the narrative architecture allows the player to become totally immersed in the experience by building a believable environment. Similarly, Gone Home creates a believable and incredibly detailed environment. The house is filled with 90s memorabilia, and each room had a distinct personality that allowed you to recognise it instantly. For example, Sam’s bedroom was obviously hers because she had posters and homework assignments left everywhere! The house is the only space the player can explore, but it is filled more enough information than the player needs.

Exploration is encouraged and the player can examine old cassettes, photographs, books, and letters that don’t have anything to do with the main storyline. These are used to build up the separate characters themselves and to develop the characters without anyone else having to be in the house. The letters are the most important pieces to understanding Sam and why she chose to leave, but there are plenty of other clues and story lines going on as well. For example, the mother and father are having difficulties with their marriage. The mother was possibly having an affair with another man, although nothing is truly proven. The parents left the house – the player later discovers – because they are on a marriage retreat. Besides that, the mother’s personality is shown through her letters, letters addressed to her by friends, and the various wildlife/wildfire knickknacks lying around the house. The player’s character is shown through the different trophies and various homework assignments scattered throughout the house, which all serve to highlight the difference between her and her sister. The father’s character is developed through the use of his books, letters written to him, and evidences of an early childhood in the house. Even the gift Lonnie sent Sam is kept in a closet, which makes Lonnie feel like a real person. All of these things may seem superfluous if this was just a game, but it’s not. This is a story about the lives of several different people. It’s the story about a family and the trials they face separately in their own hells and together as a family.

Final Journal Entry Transcript:

“Katie… I’m so sorry. That I can’t be there to see you in person. That I can’t tell you all this myself. But I hope, as you read this journal, and you think back… that you’ll understand why I had to do what I did. And that you won’t be sad, and you won’t hate me, and you’ll just know… that I am where I need to be.

I love you so much, Katie. I’ll see you again. Someday.

Love, Sam.”

This ending moved me to tears… the moment where it all comes together – when you realize why no one is home, who the voice on the phone was (Lonnie!), and why it’s called Gone Home.

Home is a place where you belong. For Sam, that was with Lonnie. For the parents, that was in each other, which is why they were trying so hard to save their marriage and confront their issues. For Katie (the main character), that’s literally going home and feeling at peace with what happened.

My Choice: Gone Home Uncle Oscar – Pedophile or Closeted Homosexual? Although Sam and Lonnie’s romance dominates the majority of the game, there is a darker narrative that goes under the radar. That’s understandable, because it is told with such subtlety that it never becomes the main focus. It’s the story about the relationship between Sam’s … Continue reading “Uncle Oscar – Pedophile or Closeted Homosexual?”

My Choice: Gone Home

Uncle Oscar – Pedophile or Closeted Homosexual?

Although Sam and Lonnie’s romance dominates the majority of the game, there is a darker narrative that goes under the radar. That’s understandable, because it is told with such subtlety that it never becomes the main focus. It’s the story about the relationship between Sam’s father, Terry, and his Uncle Oscar, the previous owner of the “Psycho house.”

Below are the two arguments I’ve set up using my own interpretation and the interpretation found on online sources explaining their relationship.

Theory: Oscar the Monster

In one of the hidden passages, there is a wall covered in markings that recorded Terry’s height as he grew up. Terry’s height stops being recorded when he reaches the age of twelve in 1963. In 1963, Oscar hosted a family Thanksgiving part in his home like he does every year. This year, however, was extremely significant because some unknown evil occurs.

Decades later, you enter Oscar’s old house and go exploring. There is a hidden safe in one of the secret passage ways next to a wall with markings that recorded your Dad’s height growing up.

The safe can only be opened if the code 1-9-6-3 is entered. Inside of the safe, amongst syringes and bottles of morphine, is a letter from Oscar to Terry’s mother expressing remorse, transgression, and a plea for forgiveness. Forgiveness for what?

In the cellar of the house, the light is broken. There in the bleak room, a child’s wooden toy horse can be found. It is the only object hidden in the dark alluding to a sinister childhood memory.

According to Austin Walker’s “Transgressions – You Can Do Better,” Terry grows up to become obsessed with the year 1963. “His book’s protagonist travels back to that time to prevent a tragedy. The Kennedy assassination occurred just days before Terry was coerced into the basement on Thanksgiving Day. It became the analogue for the abuse. Terry’s mother found out on that day and the torment ceased, but the repercussions hadn’t yet begun to take hold.”

Did Terry’s mother walk in on her brother abusing her son that fateful night? If so, a lot of pieces may fall into place. For one, it would explain the tension between Oscar and his distant father – who probably did not know how to deal with the situation. It would also explain the letter of remorse written to Terry’s mother that was found in the safe. Finally, it would explain why Terry became estranged from his own wife. Perhaps he still had not dealt with the past. Perhaps this is why he was so obsessed with going back in time and stopping it from happening. Maybe he was JFK.

Theory: Oscar the Cross-Dresser

The reason Sam tried to reach Oscar is because he was a closeted homosexual, much like herself, and she needed advice. Why would she try to hard to reach out to someone who hurt her father? Wouldn’t it make more sense that she reached out to someone who went through a similar experience and could give her advice?

The house has a sewing room filled with women’s clothing – perhaps Oscar cross dressed from time to time and Terry discovered his secret at the Thanksgiving party and revealed it to his parents. The 60s were a conservative period, and homosexuality was not seen in a positive light. Thus, Oscar was rejected by the family and labeled a “psycho.”

As an adult, Terry has a difficult time coming to terms with Sam’s sexuality. Is this because he was still attached to the negative stigmas of the 60s? Is it because he saw how sad Oscar’s life turned out in the end? Maybe his obsession with going back in time has to do with finding a way to stop his younger self from ruining his Uncle’s life? Was Oscar the real JFK and Terry the young spy who could save him? One could only speculate.

Conclusion

According to Steve Gaynor, Walker’s reconstruction of the story events “100% matches my blueprint. As far as I’m concerned it’s totally accurate to what I meant to put in the game, but other interpretations are completely valid.”

I actually had to stop and put this blog away for a few days, because this made me rethink everything for one moment.

Why is something as serious as trauma, child abuse, and sexual abuse open to interpretation? If a writer intends on using this as a way to shape the narrative, then it must be clearly defined and shown. The fact that it is hidden and “open to interpretation” is problematic because it supports the idea that physical or sexual abuse is just a matter of interpretation. Terry’s perspective is completely left out of the picture, and we’re left with fragments of what might have happened or what could have happened. If it did happen, why not just be clear about it? I understand that this is a subtle storyline and that memories are hard to recreate, but this was an intentional piece of the game. Keeping it hidden does a huge disservice to people who have actually experienced abuse. Unfortunately, real-life survivors are often told that their misfortune is the result of a misunderstanding or that they merely remembered the event wrongly. The ambiguity surrounding the event that allegedly took place only serves to reassert the belief that abuse is a matter of interpretation.

My Choice: Gone Home Para…Normal (Reference to Young Frankenstein’s “Abby Normal”) Initially, Gone Home pulls the player in under the guise of a horror story. There is no backstory given beyond the fact that the player is returning home after a year abroad. The player learns that this is a new house that was labeled … Continue reading “Para… Normal.”

My Choice: Gone Home

Para…Normal (Reference to Young Frankenstein’s “Abby Normal”)

Initially, Gone Home pulls the player in under the guise of a horror story. There is no backstory given beyond the fact that the player is returning home after a year abroad. The player learns that this is a new house that was labeled the “crazy house,” but there is no explanation to why it is called that. Instead, the game opens on a stormy night in an unlit, empty, and mysterious mansion.

While playing Gone Home, the music and setting of the game made it seem as if something dreadful had happened. You must turn on the light in each room if you want to explore it. Sometimes, as in the case of the secret passages and the basement, light was not available. The music of the game made it very tense, and the ridiculously loud mix tapes gave the game a violent edge. The only soothing part of the game was Sam’s voice, which floated into the room every so often.

Did Sam kill herself? Was her mangled body hanging from the rafters of the ill-lit attic? Was Uncle Oscar’s ghost coming back to haunt you? These grisly thoughts kept me intrigued in the game and the curiosity pushed me forward.

Moving around in an unfamiliar environment alone and in the dark surrounded by angsty music seemed like the perfect recipe for a horror game. The ghost board games, ghost literature, and seance room made this game seem paranormal – I was expecting a ghost to pop up and chase me! I wasn’t the only one who thought it was a horror game. In fact, all of the friends I pushed this onto refused to finish the game because they kept expecting a jump scare. I was expecting a jump scare as well, however, the only scary part was how touching the end of the game was.

It’s not until the end that you realize this isn’t a story about ghosts. Instead, this is a coming-of-age queer love story. Not only that, but it’s a game that explores the lives of different members of a normal family. There’s nothing paranormal about it!

So why did Steve Gaynor, the creator of Gone Home, make it seem like a horror game?

This game reflects the burgeoning LGTBQ movement in the 1990s and does a great job capturing the general attitude towards LGBTQ members at the time. Nevertheless, who would want to play a game about the lives of two seemingly obscure characters? If the player were not a LGTBQ member, would he or she understand the experience? Would the player be able to relate to the character in a meaningful way?

Ultimately, the game revealed a character that was alone, misunderstood, and confused. This character, Sam, is someone a lot of people can relate to minus the LGBTQ issues. The horror elements were just tactics used to keep the player interested in the game, like I was. The true story was about Sam and how she found herself and got in touch with her sexuality, but you don’t realize that until the end. Keeping the main storyline undercover allowed this game to reach even more people since there was no stigma attached to it. It seemed like a regular horror game when in reality, it was a game about the silent hell that LGTBQ members experienced and continue to experience today.

As I mentioned in my previous post, I was very intrigued by the tactical view in Dragon Age: Inquisition. After rereading Alexander Galloway’s essay on Gamic Action, I found his description of a subjective algorithm as a style of gamic action, what he defines as “a code intervention exerted from both within gameplay and without … Continue reading “Dragon Age’s Tactical View as a Subjective Algorithm”

As I mentioned in my previous post, I was very intrigued by the tactical view in Dragon Age: Inquisition. After rereading Alexander Galloway’s essay on Gamic Action, I found his description of a subjective algorithm as a style of gamic action, what he defines as “a code intervention exerted from both within gameplay and without gameplay in the form of the nondiegetic operator act”, very relatable to this feature (37). Likewise, in reference to the graph pictured below, this style of play falls squarely into the quadrant of nondiegetic operator acts as a configuring action executed by the operator that acts on the interior game world.

After playing around with this feature, I found it to be actually quite challenging. It creates a situation where the operator must be totally in control: I had to know how to play each class correctly and effectively in order for their skill sets to complement each other in the context of a battle. When playing in third person combat mode, it never occurred to me what the other playable characters in my party were doing- as long as they weren’t dying or in my way, they were essentially irrelevant in the context of my experience. In fact, for a long period of play I had a companion who was doing less than 1/10th of my damage. This severely limited the effectiveness of the group, but it took a while to notice as I was only focused with my main character. With the tactical view, this mind set goes away, and you assume a role that requires the knowledge of all. This view in a way encapsulates what a modern war represents. Generals and high ranking officials in a room as the operator, weighing their options and considering the weapons they have at their disposal as they decide which is the best proceed in the given scenario.

While modern day warfare is miles apart from a mythical video game, the interpretation of the nondiegetic operator as a proxy for real life examples is accurate. Galloway provides some basis for this, referring to these nondiegetic operator acts derived from subjective algorithms as allegories for the informatic culture of today’s algorithmic structure. To close with a quote from Galloway: “Video games render social realities into playable form” (17).

I read an article that puts together the creepiest locations within Fallout 4, and some it happens to relate to my previous discussion of infanticide. I formerly mentioned that I believed infanticide to not be a possibility within the game, but now I see that it is mentioned but not demonstrated. One of the creepiest … Continue reading “Fall-ing Out of the norm, and making statements.”

I read an article that puts together the creepiest locations within Fallout 4, and some it happens to relate to my previous discussion of infanticide. I formerly mentioned that I believed infanticide to not be a possibility within the game, but now I see that it is mentioned but not demonstrated. One of the creepiest locations that takes place in the post-apocalyptic world is the Suffolk County Charter School. When one visits this area, there is an abundance of lifeless pink bodies that used to be children. Upon further investigation of the history of the school, one finds out that the dead pink corpses are a result of a government nutrition program (Martin). We are told that the government wanted to try different cafeteria food, so they replaced all of their options with pink sludge. However, this experiment failed, as the alternative sludge turned the children violent and their skin pink (Martin). It is not known whether the children fought amongst one another or were killed, but they were certainly harmed.

I think this phenome makes multiple arguments about our society in general. Firstly, it felt weird showing up to a school with a gun and having to shoot ghouls. I cannot help but feel that this is making a comment on the school shootings that have occurred in our society, more recently Sandy Hook. I was made uncomfortable by the fact that in some ways I was taking on the role of school shooter without meaning to. While it is clear that I was shooting ghouls and hot children, the perspectives of showing up to a place of learning while armed is unnerving. It is possible that the game developers wanted one to have this disturbing experience to make a statement about the danger of guns, especially in the learning environment. The other statement that I believe this location makes concerns the government’s involvement in public education and it’s (sometimes) lack of concern. The school approved the pink sludge without the consent of the faculty and members of the school. This decision that was made in spite of the students ended up hurting them and the community. This occurs in real life, where school programs and faculty are cut or changed in a manner that is detrimental to children. Many public schools often have to deal with the negative consequences of government decisions, much like Suffolk County Charter School.

Continuing on your journey, Booker DeWitt comes across the ‘Hall of Heroes’ a sector of Columbia dedicated to honoring the wars its citizens have fought in, which include exhibits of the Battle of Wounded Knee and the Battle of Peking. Both of these battles are notable in U.S. history as Americans being the aggressors in […]

Continuing on your journey, Booker DeWitt comes across the ‘Hall of Heroes’ a sector of Columbia dedicated to honoring the wars its citizens have fought in, which include exhibits of the Battle of Wounded Knee and the Battle of Peking. Both of these battles are notable in U.S. history as Americans being the aggressors in the situation, but at the time, perceiving ourselves as heroes and rightful victors. In the case of Wounded Knee, historically noted as the battle of Wounded Knee but contemporarily referred to as the Wounded Knee massacre, American lore has transformed a brutal execution of almost 300 Native Americans into a staple of glorification of westward expansion. Eyewitness accounts of the time describe the scene as sheer brutality.

“General Nelson A. Miles who visited the scene of carnage, following a three-day blizzard, estimated that around 300 snow shrouded forms were strewn over the countryside. He also discovered to his horror that helpless children and women with babies in their arms had been chased as far as two miles from the original scene of encounter and cut down without mercy by the troopers. … Judging by the slaughter on the battlefield it was suggested that the soldiers simply went berserk. For who could explain such a merciless disregard for life?”[1]

This kind of event is one of the many historical American acts of brutality and sheer lack of humanity, which time and patriotism have drowned out and replaced with a prestigious legacy. As the player discovers, Booker actually fought at Wounded Knee. The player also uncovers the traumatizing effects that Wounded Knee has left with Booker.

American history books are littered with nefarious historical events that are celebrated and portrayed as glorious, momentous episodes. The colonization of the Americas is represented as white Europeans finding a new home and creating a bastion of freedom rather than the exploitation and genocide of the Native American race. The political relationship between the United States and Central and South American states was represented as mutually beneficial and prosperous in the early 2oth Century, despite that fact that it was an exploitative puppetry system of establishing Banana Republics in the developing world. These South/Central American countries were rich with natural resources and possessed working class citizens who could be easily oppressed by a small plutocracy established and supported by the United States government and the private sector. This led to the wealth and prosperity of American corporations (United Fruit, Standard Fruit Co., etc.) and corrupt government officials in these exploited countries, while also oppressing the working class and slaughtering any political activists and movements that sought justice [2]. The roots of the exploitation of the Native American people and the Central/South American working class has roots in racism, religion, moral and ideological superiority, amongst other things.

By reliving the American experience through Columbia, ideologies are revealed more blatantly to the player and become easier to grasp. The player is able to critically analyze the concepts that the game questions: the underlying roots of racism, religious fanaticism, and political extremism in American society. Especially in this age of “Make America Great Again”, this game questions “Was America ever ‘great’?” Simply put, the answer is “No, not really.”